Chapter 1: The beginning of suffering
In the heart of Eldrath, a village cradled by ancient woods, a storm brewed as the moon hung heavy in the sky, cloaked in ominous clouds. It was during this tempest that a boy was born, under a flickering candlelight that struggled to fend off the darkness.
Agantha, weary and fraught with pain, clutched the edges of her straw mattress. Her husband, Felder Jon, held her hand tightly, his brow slick with sweat. As the final cries of labor filled their humble cottage, a piercing wail erupted, echoing through the forest, mingling with the howling winds.
When the midwife placed the child in Agantha's arms, a hush fell over the room. The boy had deep-set eyes that seemed to hold the weight of the night. But even as his tiny fingers curled around his mother's, an unsettling chill swept through the air, snuffing out the candlelight.
"His name shall be Siminth," Felder Jon declared, his voice wavering. But as he spoke, shadows flickered at the edges of the room, creeping like tendrils of smoke. The midwife's gaze darkened, and her lips tightened in dread.
"A child born in such a storm carries a curse," she whispered, backing away. "He will draw darkness to you."
Agantha, her heart swelling with love and fear, refused to believe the words. "He is ours. He will bring light."
Yet as days turned to weeks, the village began to whisper. Strange occurrences followed Siminth wherever he went. Livestock vanished, crops withered, and shadows lengthened unnaturally at dusk. His laughter rang out like a bell, but even that was often tinged with an eerie echo, as if the night itself were responding.
As Siminth grew, he became accustomed to the stares, the murmurs that followed him like a shadow. His parents tried to shield him, but the curse was a relentless tide. Children at school avoided him, their faces drawn in fear, leaving him to wander the outskirts of the village. In the woods, he found solace among the trees, their ancient bark absorbing his loneliness.
Agantha and Felder Jon worked tirelessly to protect their son, but the dark energy surrounding Siminth seeped into their lives. The village elders warned them to leave, claiming Siminth would bring ruin upon them all. With each warning, the weight of despair pressed heavier on their hearts.
One night, the air was thick with tension as a gathering storm rolled in. The sky flashed with lightning, illuminating the figures of cloaked men approaching their cottage. Felder Jon grabbed a pitchfork, standing guard while Agantha wrapped Siminth in a blanket, cradling him against her chest.
"What do you want?" Felder Jon shouted, defiance lacing his voice.
"We have come for the boy," one of the cloaked figures spoke, his voice cold as ice. "He is a vessel of darkness, and we must contain it before it spreads."
Agantha clutched Siminth tighter, her heart racing. "He is my son! You will not take him!"
But as the men advanced, a wave of malevolence washed over them, and the air crackled with the power of the curse. Shadows coiled around the intruders, and with a swift motion, they lunged at Felder Jon. The pitchfork clattered to the ground as a blinding light enveloped the cottage.
When the light receded, the figures were gone, but Felder Jon lay motionless, a gaping wound in his side. Agantha screamed, a sound that shattered the stillness of the night. She rushed to her husband, cradling him in her arms, but it was too late. The curse had claimed its first victims.
In the days that followed, Siminth wandered through the empty cottage, echoes of laughter now replaced by silence. Agantha, lost in her grief, often gazed into the depths of the forest, her heart torn between love and despair. She could feel the darkness around them, like a suffocating cloak, tightening its grip.
"Momma," Siminth would call, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why does everyone leave me?"
Agantha would kneel before him, her tears staining the dirt floor. "They are afraid, my love. But you are not alone. I am here."
Yet even as she spoke, the shadows danced outside, and Siminth felt their pull, a constant reminder of the curse that clung to him like a second skin. His childhood became a tapestry of alone moments, woven with threads of sorrow and resilience. He often ventured into the forest, where the trees whispered secrets and the wind seemed to promise companionship.
But the darkness lurked just beyond, always watching, always waiting.
But his parents would never know s the years rolled by, Siminth would grew into a boy marked by solitude. His heart, heavy with longing, beat with the knowledge that he was bound to a fate entwined with evil. Yet in his core, a flicker of hope remained—a belief that he could one day break the curse and find a way to protect those he loved or carry that curse and bring together all the evilness in the existence to just himself alone, so never would have anyone else have to suffer. Little did his parents know, Siminth was destined to become the greatest god, a being of unimaginable power, from eternity to eternity.
And so, the boy who attracted shadows continued to wander, each step drawing him closer to a destiny that awaited beyond the horizon, a destiny that would demand courage and sacrifice. The whispers of the forest beckoned him, promising answers hidden within the depths of darkness.